


...WHERE THE GIRLS ARE SO PRETTY...

by orphan_account



Series: Comfort Zone [3]
Category: Hollyoaks
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-15
Updated: 2011-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-27 09:13:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/294117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...And the living is...just is</p>
            </blockquote>





	...WHERE THE GIRLS ARE SO PRETTY...

...WHERE THE GIRLS ARE SO PRETTY...

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Oh whose idea was it to get a bloody landline?”

“Mine.”

“And who told you it would be a really, really bad idea?”

“You.”

“And was I right?”

“Well to be honest I really don’t see what all the fuss is about. It’s cheap, it keeps us in touch-“

“Exactly – now they can ring us – with impunity any bloody time they like.”

“Well to be fair, John Paul they can do that anyway.”

“Yes but it’s cheaper.” He flung himself into the armchair they’d bought the other day. It had caught Craig’s eye while they’d been shopping – for something else entirely – and he’d persuaded John Paul to use some of their budget on it. It was big and comfortable, easily seated two... “You still don’t realise the full extent of their capacity to bloody interfere-“

“Well we’re miles away. Shove up.” He squeezed in beside him. “And they were fine while we were in Liverpool.”

“Yeah well.” He’d put his arm around him to make best use of the space. “They have a tendency to do that, my sisters – lull you into a false sense of security.”

Craig laughed. John Paul was so sour on the subject of his sisters – and yeah they could be really scary and full on – yet his love for them  _shone_ from him whenever he was in their presence. He wasn’t fooling anybody – maybe himself. “Well let’s see if we can stay alert to the danger then.”

“You’re laughing at me.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Okay, maybe a little.”

“You know what they’re like, Craig. I suppose you’ve just never seen them at their worst, you probably think they’re pretty harmless.”

“John Paul, have you noticed the way you tend to lump them all together? It’s never Carmel or Tina or Jacqui – it’s always ‘my sisters’, ‘they’ like they’re a hive or something.”

“Yeah with Jacqui as Queen Bee.” He rolled his eyes at Craig’s smirk. “Oh don’t pretend she didn’t; have you shitting your pants when she had you against that window on the way to Liverpool. I saw the look in your eye.”

“She’s a bit strong ain’t she?”

John Paul snorted. “That’s like saying George fucking Bush is a little intellectually challenged. She can pick you up with one hand when she puts her mind to it. And when she’s really cross can probably take your head off with one punch. Oh it’s not funny! She used to smack me when I were a kid. Mum never smacked us so Jacq used to take it upon herself to ‘discipline’ us kids.”

“Sounds like fun.” He was nibbling the lobe of John Paul’s slightly reddened ear. He loved it when John Paul got irate, made bringing him out of his mood so ...satisfying. “But I bet you were good as gold when you were a kid.” He sucked the lobe into his mouth, inhaling the scent of john Paul’s face, neck and hair. It was funny how certain scents could act as a trigger to arousal. Sometimes he had only to smell John Paul’s hair and it would make him hard, evoking memories of love making or fucking – both very different, both equally exciting. They tended to fuck at night, make love in the morning or day. He didn’t know why, maybe it was something primal.

“Stop that.” He made no overt attempt to either move away or stop him.

Craig could only assume, therefore that he didn’t mean that in the way that people generally meant ‘stop that’. “Yeah? Make me.” He began to pepper kisses on John Paul’s neck – dry, teasing kisses that he knew would drive his lover mad until hot and frustrated he’d take over. Craig loved when he got so hot that he’d take control. He loved it when John Paul just let himself go, no asking, just going in and taking. Fucking loved it.

One evening a week or so after they’d first moved in to the Liverpool house John Paul whose turn it had been to shop had come in looking like a man on a mission. He hadn’t had any bags with him at all, blue eyes hard, hot and dark with arousal. Craig, looking up from the book he’d been studying felt himself almost shrink away in surprise. This was the last thing he’d been expecting. What the hell? John Paul hadn’t said a bloody word just grabbed him by the hand and put him on the floor. Literally put him on the floor: picked him up, upended him – bam! - on the floor.

“Shut up,” he’d been told when he’d made a feeble – very feeble attempt - to protest. “Shut up or I’ll gag you.”

Well it was wrong, he knew it was wrong, but that had made him hard as a rock. He shut up, stared into John Paul’s eyes. 

He looked like a different person when he was aroused, acted like it too- totally uninhibited, completely alpha; pushing Craig around, picking him up, laying him down – arousal giving him a strength he didn’t normal possess. And it wasn’t just about fucking – he loved being fucked too and in full arousal, when he was ready to be fucked? Well good god, on these occasions Craig usually came so hard he’d have to lie flat for minutes after so absolutely fucking  _incredible_ was a gagging-for-it John Paul.

John Paul stripped him to the skin – rough with him, even rougher with his clothes - and he could feel his prick getting harder and harder with each careless shove, every ungentle prod.

Then he feasted on him: first with his eyes - like a king sitting in his treasury, eye lighting on every coin, every piece of jewellery, smugly aware that it was his – all his - and then with his mouth, licking, kissing every part of him  _except_ his throbbing cock and frustrated mouth. Turning him over John Paul kissed all the way down then all the way back up. “Shut. Up.” Craig felt an insistent finger breach him. He hadn’t even been aware that he  _had_ lube... Was he still supposed to keep quiet because that was surely asking too much: John Paul knew exactly where to touch, how to touch and no way was he going to- He was entered roughly, the pressure of John Paul’s weight on his back making his cock rub deliciously against the rug under him. Well that was Sharon’s best afghan ruined for good then. He’d worry about that later, right now he was just concerned about keeping his tongue from trailing along the floor it felt so fucking good – the twin stimulation making him completely unable to form words. And surely moaning and babbling didn’t count as  _speech_ . 

John Paul was taking his time pulling out, then slamming in, his teeth gripping the flesh of Craig’s shoulder branding him, marking him, claiming him. “You are so fucking beautiful.” Slam! “You don’t know how much...” Slam! “I fucking...” Slam! “Love you.”

Craig didn’t know what had given rise to all this but he was NOT complaining. He wanted to reassure his lover, but knew that his lover was somehow reassuring himself and his words were not required.

John Paul fucked him for a long time, slowing it down, gentling it until he was screaming with the need to come. 

“You wanna come?” John Paul whispered in his ear. The question was rhetorical so he didn’t answer, just winced a little as John Paul pulled out, accepted the kiss, gentle in the small of his back, as apology. “Sit on me.” John Paul helped him turn, centre himself allowing him to take his time, blue eyes staring intently into his. "Your pace. Come for me. I wanna see you come.” His voice was hoarse, but gentle; coaxing, encouraging, loving...

He loved this: the intensity of the face to face. It had never been like this with any of the girls he’d slept with, this eye contact, this  _connection_ . They’d often had their eyes closed and so had he, just wanting to come, not wanting to open himself to another person by allowing them to see his feelings, not even the simple pleasure he was feeling. It had never been like that with John Paul. From the very first time they’d kissed in his mother’s lounge hiding from him hadn’t been on the agenda at all. Hiding was the very last thing he wanted: the connection with this man so profound, so intense that it would have been akin to a physical dismemberment to even attempt to dilute it, tamper with it in  _any_ way. He’d thought he was in love with Darlene yet he’d never once looked into her eyes when he was fucking her. Maybe subconsciously he’d been aware that if he had he would have been able to see that she had no love for him at all, was only stringing him along. He wasn’t a fool; he’d known things weren’t right between them but he hadn’t wanted it to end – he’d been so desperate to be in love, to belong, be one of the lads. And he liked feisty women, yet latterly had come to recognise that he’d very often been guilty of allowing the ‘feistiness’ to mask the bitchiness and self-centredness that so often lay behind it all.

Even with Sarah it had taken a while for the sex to get good and looking back he could see now that he’d always held back, even at the height of passion; dispassionate, watching her,  _looking_ at her face, but making no real connection. He didn’t know why but John Paul was the first person he’d ever let in – figuratively  _and_ literally. He couldn’t have let himself be fucked if he hadn’t first let him in a long time before. He’d stared into John Paul’s eyes when they were simply speaking far more than he ever did with Sarah and this was when they were still just mates; long before they became lovers. 

He’d fallen in love with him a long time before he’d realised that too.

“Stay with me.” John Paul stroked his hair away from his face, kissed his mouth, calling him back.

“Always.”

“Love you.”

“I know, John, I know.”

Later as they lay together on the sofa, exhausted, still shuddering in the aftermath of another toe curling orgasm John Paul had taken a lock of his hair, twined it round his finger and said: “I saw Mike.”

 

 

**

 

He’d just pulled Craig onto his lap when the phone rang – again. “I fucking told you!”

Craig laughed, thrust his hips in a tease then leaned in to deliver a playful kiss on John Paul’s frustrated nose. “No way you can tell just by the ring that it’s them. Look he’s got  _me_ doing it now,” he informed the phantom standing behind John Paul’s left shoulder. “Soon I’ll be saying THEM in all capitals and hiding whenever there’s an unexpected visitor at the door.”

“And that’s another thing.” John Paul gave him an accusing look. “I told you to get caller ID”

“Cost more.” 

“Small price to pay. Oh for-“ He thrust Craig to one side. “Oh man sorry, sorry.” Craig had gone over the back of the chair and was half on, half off, dignity in tatters. Unable to help himself John Paul rubbed a possessive hand over his arse before helping him back into the chair. “Look it’s definitely them – anyone else would have rung off by now.”

“Well bloody answer it then. It’s doing my fucking head in.”

John Paul stood looking at him, then glancing across at the phone which he’d swear was actually vibrating with anger.

“Do you want _me_ to answer it?”

“Would you? Say I’ve gone out or something.” He put an arm around the sighing Craig, walked with him over to the phone table. “And don’t make it sound like you’re lying. Oh sorry, sorry. No, you go on....”

“Am I allowed to accept invitations on both our behalves or do I play the dumb bitch who can’t move without her man’s say so?”

“Tell you what _I’ll_ fucking answer it.”

“Shhh.” He picked up the receiver. “Oh Hi, Myra. John Paul?” He looked at him. “No, he’s at the library. I know; he’s really taking this first year seriously. No, no Myra we understand why you can’t come over.” They both rolled their eyes. “Christmas? Well we’ll try, of course. No we’ll make it.” He made a face at John Paul’s headshake and desperately mouthed ‘no, no, no’. “Of course not. Yeah well just one day at a time, Myra. No it’s going fine, no the food’s great. No he’s a great cook – you taught him well-“

John Paul looking heavenward walked away, knowing that this was going to go on for a while...

When Craig came and plonked himself into his lap, pretending to expire in a dead faint of profound exhaustion he blew air in his face. “So I guess that’s all our Christmases and Easters sewn up for the next three fucking years then.”

“I talked her down to two.”

“Arsehole.”

“What can I do, she don’t listen to a word I say.”

“She thinks you’re pretty, do you know that?” He took a malicious delight at the look that appeared on Craig’s face. “I imagine that between them Sharon and Mum will have you decked out like the Christmas fairy in a few weeks time. Knowing them they’ll probably find a tree big enough for you to perch on top of too. Make up, pretty red lips.” He kissed them. “Hair all done up in bunches.” He picked up strands of hair, pretended to consider. “Red I think and maybe green earrings. Pretty sure our Jacq’s got some huge green hoops that’d set the outfit off a treat. Oh yeah, the outfit... Ow! For someone so pretty you don’t half pack a wallop, miss! Ow Craig, dammit that’s my fucking leg! Okay I take it back – no earrings. Craig!”

 

**

 

He felt Craig tense. “Yeah?”

“In the supermarket. We went for a drink.”

“Oh, a drink. I see.”

There was a short silence.

They’d never talked about Mike, but he’d stood between them like a blemish on someone’s face you did your best to pretend wasn’t there until you’d get so used to it  _being_ there you no longer really noticed until you came upon them unexpectedly or in an unfamiliar setting. 

And ‘a drink with Mike’ might, in Craig’s mind, just as well have been a euphemism for blow job.

“I told him we were living here.”

“You gave him our address.” He could feel the tension in him like a scrape along tender flesh.

“No.”

“No? Why not? You could invite him for several ‘drinks’, you know, when I’m out doing the shopping-” He sat up abruptly, reaching for the clothes that weren’t there. He looked like someone who’d just looked down to see the handle of a knife sunk deep in his gut.

John Paul refused to let this affect him. He had to keep a cool head, stay in control of this. He put a hand on the damp back, accepted when it was shrugged off, but held him when he tried to get up. “We’re going to talk. No sulking and losing it. Let’s talk about this.”

Craig looked like he wanted to take that knife from his gut and stick it in him – in any part so long as the resultant damage would be extensive. “No let’s fucking  _not_ . You want to fuck around on me, what, because of Sarah? Okay you do that – I can’t stop you, but try to justify it to me and expect me to take it? I don’t fucking think so!”

“Oh you mean the way you tried to justify sleeping with Sarah to me?” Damn he had meant to leave that one alone – well alone.

“Oh I see, back to this. Fine. Come on then.” He sat back, arms folded. “You slept with him because -? Oh yeah you wanted to compare us. Well I guess he must be better – he’s the one who got your cherry isn’t he? The one you couldn’t _pretend_ with any more.”

“Craig.”

“No, I understand. You’d’ have kept messing me about, god knows how long for, but him, five minutes after the first hello it’s head down – first blowjob.”

“Why are you doing this? It wasn’t like that and you know it.”

“Know it? How the fuck do I know anything – you never fucking talk abut him, like he’s sacred or something-“

“Because I didn’t want to hurt you!” They were both shouting now, the situation he’d tried so hard to control – out, completely out of anyone’s control – his or Craig’s. Dammit.

“You fucking ignore _me_ , go and fuck this tosser you don’t even fucking know and you didn’t want to _hurt_ me?”

“Craig you were fucking Sarah – you were sleeping in the same fucking room as me and never ever gave me the come on - ever. How the fuck was I supposed to know?”

“I knew about _you_ – how you felt about me.”

“I was in love with you!” How did someone fucking _shout_ those words – the tenderest words in the lexicon of love? What was happening to them? How had it got to this?

“Oh and I suppose it was just fucking _lust_ with me – you were what, my latest conquest, my potential fuckbuddy? I courted you for fucking _months,_ man, and you go and fuck the first bastard who smiles at you. Now how the fuck would you feel if you were me?” He twisted away from John Paul’s restraining arm and headed, naked, for the door.

John Paul let him go.

 

**

 

Craig had deliberately left the bathroom a complete fucking mess – wet towels on the floor, the bath mat half soaked. How the fuck had he done that – held it under the tap?

John Paul cleaned up before having his own shower then cleaned up again, trying to compose the first words he’d say to his lover.

No fucking wonder they’d never talked about Mike.

Craig was lying in their bed – thank god – back to the door, the duvet practically covering his head.

Please, please let him not be crying; that would kill him.

“Craig.” He slid in behind him, touched the dark hair. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t know you had feelings for me and I’m sorry I hurt you by going with Mike.”

“Why did you sleep with him? I thought we - thought we were _solid_.”

“Craig.” He sighed, pulled him close. “We’re solid. I _didn’t_ sleep with him – it’s- God, man, I don’t even know how to explain it to you. When I said I don’t see anyone but you that wasn’t just a line. From the first fucking time I saw you there hasn’t _been_ anyone else. I mean that literally. No-one, no-one else can _touch_ you. If I didn’t have you, weren’t with you like this I think I’d die. Oh I’d pretend I was living like I did when you were with Sarah, but I’d be dead inside. When I was with Mike we both knew it wasn’t him I wanted to be with. And he led me to you, Craig, cos I didn’t even properly know what I wanted from you – just knew that I’d come alive whenever I’d hear your voice, see your face. I didn’t know I _wanted_ you – like that - but I did know, god did I ever know I loved you. 

When he kissed me, went down on me it made me realise – that that’s what I wanted to do with you.” He kissed the tip of the ear he could only just make out through the strands of damp hair. “We’re  _friends_ , Craig – me and Mike. He told me he wasn’t interested in getting involved with me, said I carried heavy baggage. At the time I thought he meant my age, the fact that I was just coming to terms with my sexuality. I see now that he meant this – us. He knew better than I did that I belonged to you – heart, head, body, soul,  _every_ part of me – and wasn’t prepared to get involved in an essentially empty and frustrating ‘relationship’. I didn’t actively  _want_ a relationship with him but I suppose if he’d been offering... Craig I was so confused – fancying this guy, in love with you. I just didn’t know what to think. I wanted some direction – Mike gave it me.” He felt Craig’s hand seeking his, grabbed it, held on tight. “It’s not right and I am ashamed but when I was with him I was thinking of you – all the time. I- I-“ He swallowed,  _really_ ashamed, but forcing himself to say it. “I thought it would be the closest I’d ever get to being with you. It’s not fair: I hate myself for doing that. It wasn’t even like that with Hannah – I just wasn’t even really there with her and that’s bad, but I think this is worse because I – I-“

“Shhh.” Craig had turned in his arms and now lay a gentle finger against his lips. “Don’t. Don’t say it. I know, I know.”

“I love you so much Craig. Seeing him it brought it all back; my frustration cos I didn’t have you and she did – yeah I know, I know but you were still sleeping with her and then-” He took a deep breath. “Okay I admit it; I hadn’t forgiven you for sleeping with her after being with me. I know it’s wrong of me since we agreed that we wouldn’t finish with them and I never explicitly said not to have sex with her, but- in front of me, blanking me and then going off and sleeping with her even though you must have known what it would do to me?”

“John Paul.” Craig’s hand was stroking the side of his face. “I’m not going to apologise for that.”

“I know, I know it’s me being immature-“

“No, no it’s not, but it was something I had to do – for me. Like you had to have sex with Mike – for you.”

John Paul looked into his eyes – fighting the well of feeling inside him. He could see what he was saying, knew it was so, yet he couldn’t help feeling - “But I didn’t do it in front of you and I  _didn’t_ know how you felt.”

“Maybe, but the hurt was the same whether or not you were aware you were hurting me– and I had no leg to stand on, couldn’t get mad, couldn’t tell you not to. I had to stand there and smile at him knowing he’d-“ He took a deep breath. “Do we have to talk about this?”

“Yes I think so.”

“I admit I’m jealous - always have been. I got jealous of Sarah but honestly? That’s a whole entire fucking galaxy away from how it feels for me thinking of you with another bloke.”

“Craig...”

“That first time when you came in and I knew you’d had sex with him I felt like killing him – I wanted to jump in the car – any fucking car, track him down and _kill_ him. I wasn’t angry with you – I knew he knew how I felt. Look we just _knew_ okay? Just one of those things. I talked to him the next week and he made it pretty damn clear that he was going to do what the heck he pleased with you.”

“He told me you warned him off.” John Paul saw that he’d surprised him.

“Really? He said that?”

“He thought it was hilarious. To be honest I think he thought _we_ were pretty damn hilarious. The thing is I think I’m starting to see his point.”

“Arrogant bastard.”

John Paul grinned. “Takes one to know one.”

Craig grinned, kissed him, drew back a little, then went in again. As usual the kiss didn’t stay ‘friendly’ very long – he had a feeling that if they ever attempted one of those casual public displays of affection he’d seen from other couples they’d end up in the back of a patrol car – charge? Public indecency.

Craig slid on top, sliding a thigh in between his.

“Love you, John.”

“Love you.” He slid both hands to the firm flesh of Craig’s arse, drew Craig’s gaze on to him, into him. “Fuck me.”

 

**

 

John Paul had accused him of being a bit of a workaholic and he supposed he was - sort of. He didn’t’ see it that way, of course – if he had a task to complete he’d do it to the best of his ability, pushing himself to give 110 % and wouldn’t be happy until he’d completed it. Well okay that might be some people’s definition of workaholism, but to him it was just getting on with things, doing the job.

He’d organised himself around study, lectures - and John Paul. The way he saw it there’d be plenty of time to mess around in pubs and clubs –  _after_ he’d got the degree sorted and it wasn’t like he  _needed_ to pick anything up (the only reason he saw for anyone going clubbing. Yeah sure it was a night out with the lads or the girls. Yeah sure it was). He had everything he needed right here, which helped, helped a lot cos that meant he had that much more time to devote to research...

 

 

**

 

John Paul had just phoned to say ‘I love you’. Of course he’d pretended it was to check he’d done the chores, saying the parting words like an afterthought but he wasn’t fooling anyone: John Paul had the worst poker ‘voice’ he’d ever heard...

He tried to keep the grin off his face – idiotic to be grinning to yourself, by yourself, in an empty room, but he was by himself, in an empty room – who the heck would know?

He had been happy for months now, months and months and his essentially pessimistic nature (when it came to matters of the heart at least) made him automatically look for the dark cloud hiding behind the sun.

He was too, happy. Something was just bound to go wrong.

No sooner had the thought settled on him than the doorbell rang. They had the top flat and he often preferred to go down and clock who was there rather than use the intercom. He tried to ignore the persistence of the thought – they’re wrong: paranoia  _is_ catching - as he opened the door and crept downstairs. 

Just as he reached the middle of the flight of stairs the front door opened and Matt from flat 1 came in, ubiquitous bike preceding him, head turned as he exchanged words with someone behind him. When he saw Craig frozen on the stair he smiled. “You’ve got a visitor.”

Oh god – John Paul was going to be bloody ecsta- 

He stared in white-faced shock when he saw the man who followed Matt through the door.

 

 

 

 

**

 

He’d been on his way to a lecture when he got the text:

**Jake’s here** .

He simply turned and ran, taking off his bag and holding it in his hand when it impeded his progress.

If he laid a finger on him he’d die, that bastard would die.

 

 

**

The bus had taken forever and he’d never regretted not living closer to the university as much as he did at right now.

He’d sprinted all the way from the bus stop, fumbling with his keys, sweating, frustrated, trembling with anxiety. He should have texted him, should have let him know he was on his way...

If Jake harmed a single hair on his head...

He raced up the stairs, for once cursing the location of their flat.

He didn’t know what he was going to find when he got home. If Jake...

“Craig! Craig!” He pushed the door open, rushed in. His heart was pounding: he didn’t think he’d ever been so afraid in his entire life.

“John Paul.”

 

 

 

**

 

John Paul had gone to Chester. He’d wanted to tag along but John Paul had insisted he get his head down and get on with the reading he'd been doing for the last bloody week! This course (one of the best around, true) was going to be a ball breaker! They were both confident he’d do okay, but there was no question there’d not be too much messing about he’d be able to get away with come September.

Sighing, he pushed away from the table and went to the enormous kitchen. Since moving in 3 weeks previously he and John Paul had spent many hours here – cooking, learning to cook, washing up, mopping up spills (John Paul could be so bloody forceful when he got that spark in him and tended to  _really_ lose it)... and finding different ways to fuck standing up. He was sure that the neighbours got pretty damn excited whenever they clocked they were in the kitchen – together. He didn’t think they’d ever managed not to grope each other at some point whenever they were together here. Maybe they both had some ..food...fetish previously unbeknownst to either of them.

But yeah the walls here were pretty damn thick.

He made himself a coffee, which he took with him to the front lounge.

They hardly used this room, reserved it for the very rare visitor.

The view was pretty unprepossessing – terraced houses and people – not his idea of a good time. He was about to move away when he spotted a car parked across the way. He wasn’t sure what it was, but.... 

Setting his cup down he hurried to the front door, opened it but didn’t go into the small garden. The driver’s side was furthest away from him and he couldn’t quite make out... Jesus fuck!

“Jake!” He hurried into the garden, but as soon as he did his brother set the car in motion and sped off.

“What the fuck?” He stood for a while looking after the unfamiliar car – had he hired it? Why? What had he been doing here? How had he got the address? Oh god, Steph! He’d told her not to!

Anger masking the real upset he was feeling he went back inside, slamming the door hard behind him.

 

“I thought I asked you not to give anyone our address.”

“Craig I didn’t. Why what’s happened?”

“Bloody Jake! I just clocked him parked across the fucking street.”

“Craig I swear I didn’t tell him – or mum.”

“Steph I know you find it impossible to keep your big mouth shut but I _asked_ you – I do not want John Paul fucking upset!”

“Craig I promise you – he did not get it from me. I swear.”

He took a deep breath, still angry but knowing she was telling the truth. “Okay, okay, but he was here and I want to know how he found out where we lived. Could you have written it down, left it somewhere he could see?”

“It’s possible, I suppose, but I keep the address in a sort of hidden pocket in my purse, which isn’t ever left where anyone else can get to it so I don’t think so. Craig couldn’t John Paul’s family...?”

“No way. No, it’s gotta be something else. Steph tell him from me that if I see him over here again-“

“Craig, don’t. I hate you being like this.”

“Me? I’m not the one who gave his brother a kicking just for liking another bloke!”

“But he’s really sorry.”

“He shouldn’t have fucking done it in the first place. He hit John Paul when he wasn’t looking, didn’t give him a chance. He could have broken his fucking nose.”

“I know and he was wrong, I know that and he knows it too. But Craig I’m really worried about him. Ever since – since that - and you leaving and not talking to us. Him and mum-“

“Steph I don’t care. They expect me to fucking apologise to them for being queer, for being in love with John Paul? I don’t fucking think so!”

“But Craig-“

“No! I’m not coming home, I’m not going near either one of them until they fucking accept that I’m with him, that I’m going to be with him for the fucking rest of my fucking life and if they don’t like it then too fucking bad. They’re just gonna have to deal!” He was sure he was going to have people knocking down his door in a minute cos yep, shouting – just a little bit...

Steph was silent for a long time. “It’s really serious then.” He couldn’t define the expression in her voice, but she didn’t’ sound happy, that was for sure.

 

“Deadly. That’s what I told Jack – I told him that if they made me choose between my future or my past then it was always going to be my future. I don’t know if you can understand this Steph but I’m more sure of my future than I ever was of my past. I mean I’m happy _now_ but know that this is nothing in comparison to how it’s going to be – my life with him. Wouldn’t _you_ fucking fight for that, Steph?”

“Craig.”

“Oh don’t blub, Steph, you know what it does to your complexion.” He wished he could be there to put an arm around her, realising for the first time how hard it must be for her caught in the middle like this. “I love you, Steph, and I know you’ll do your best to sort things out between me and them, but Steph don’t – it’s down to them now. And don’t let either of them make you feel guilty for being on my side.” He could tell by her protracted silence and yeah, muffled sobs that he’d hit the nail on the head. He loved his mum but she could be a hard cow at times – especially to Steph. “Ah Steph, don’t let them get to you.”

“It’s not that, Craig. I just hate that we’re like this – that we’re fighting. You’re going away and we’re all fighting. I hate it.”

“Steph I’m sorry.” And he really was, sorry for all of it, that they had let him down so badly. Not a single person in JP’s family had tried to stand in their way. He’d been welcomed with open arms into the family, and yeah he knew they were fond of him in his own right, but he knew that in the end it was because they loved John Paul so much that whomever he loved they’d also make an effort to love.

His family hadn’t even given him – them – a chance to talk about it. Talk about it... For fuck’s sake they hadn’t’ needed to  _talk_ about it with the McQueens: Tina hadn’t needed to explain about her and Dom, nor Mercy about her and Russ. He was John Paul’s partner – end of. So far as the McQueens were concerned there was nothing  _to_ bloody talk about.

“Craig please don’t go to Dublin without telling me. I want to be there to see you off. I don’t mind going with John Paul’s family.”

He chuckled to himself. Well whatever, perhaps they wouldn’t tear her to shreds, Steph could, after all, hold her own when it came to a battle of bitches. “Yeah I’d like that Steph, like you to be here. I miss you.”

“Me too. Please come home for Christmas, Craig. Even if it’s only to have a drink in the bar with me – me and Jack.”

“I’ll do my best. Take care, Steph. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

He hadn’t told John Paul about Jake, knew that there was absolutely no fucking  _way_ John wouldn’t go haring off to Hollyoaks to take him on. John Paul was tough, but Jake was twice his size. He was also a bastard. No, best not to let him know...

 

 

**

 

 

John Paul fucking terrified him when he got like this and it was always because of him. He hated that too, that he could do that to him. 

Putting a gentle, restraining hand on his lover’s chest he said his name again. “John Paul.” And again, “John Paul.”

“You alright?” He’d managed to take his murderous gaze off Jake and was looking at him now, looking him over, blue eyes anxious, still rimmed with the frost that was now slowly, slowly melting as he satisfied himself that Craig was unharmed.

“I’m fine.” He kissed him, took his hand. “Come on, sit down. Me and Jake have been talking.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Come on.” He led him to the big armchair, waited for him to sit then squeezed in beside him. There. Deal with it. It was true Jake said he wanted to talk – to both of them, apparently ready for some kind of rapprochement - but no fucking way was he going out of his way so as not to make him uncomfortable. Fuck that – this was them, their house, their fucking ‘ _lifestyle’_ and if he wanted any kind of rapprochement then that was one of those non fucking negotiables. He looked at him with all of that stark in his eyes. “We’re listening.”

Jake had been staring at the floor the entire time since about 30 seconds into John Paul’s return. He looked up now and winced a little when he saw their joined hands, practically entwined bodies, but manfully sought to keep it off his face. “Look Craig I told you – mum’s in bits. You really should try to get in touch.”

“And I thought it was fucking clear that I’m not going to get in touch – she’ll get in touch with me if she wants to. I don’t need you – any of you – to approve, give me your blessing. Isn’t it clear by now that this is it for me?” He was aware that he was squeezing John’s hand a little too hard, but he knew he wouldn’t mind. “If you don’t want me that’s okay. If you can throw me away this easily then I guess in the end I’m better off aren’t I?”

“Come on Craig, no-one’s throwing you away. We want you home. Look how about Christmas – you come home for Christmas-“

“Sorry, got plans.” He squeezed John Paul’s hand, smiled at him. “And I don’t think any of us are ready to pretend at happy families this year. Done that a lot haven’t we, brov? Isn’t it about fucking time we _stopped_ pretending? I’m at uni, in a solid relationship: I’m happy, sorted. I don’t actually _need_ anything from any of you to complete it for me. You fucked me off – fine. I’m fucked off. You want to change that, apologise for that? Then do it – tell her to do it, don’t expect me to come crawling, apologising for being me. Never gonna happen, not in this lifetime.”

He felt John Paul shift against him, proud, he could tell; didn’t need to look at his face or hear the words.

Jake was staring at his hands and Craig suddenly felt very sorry for him. He didn’t know why Mum had sent Jake to talk to him – Steph would have been more effective. Jack even. He was honestly surprised that Jake had turned up. And he’d been unusually subdued, hardly saying a word as Craig told him that they weren’t speaking without John Paul present.

And they’d waited for him in almost total silence, the tension between them thick but...empty... too, like something that should have been there just wasn’t – anymore.

“Craig, can I, can I talk to you alone? Please?” He was looking at him, but Craig could see how hard it was to maintain eye contact. Jake had so much pride – for him to be practically begging...

He looked at John Paul, saw the objection in his eyes. “It’ll be okay. You wanted to spend the afternoon in the library didn’t you?”

“Yeah but Craig-“

“No, it’ll be okay. Go on.” He stood, held out his hand to the reluctant John Paul. “I’ll make something nice for tea.”

“Oh since when?” He sighed, took the hand and used it to help lever him to his feet, then grabbed Craig by the waist, pulled him close. “I want to fuck you _so_ bad.” His whisper, using the deepest register of his voice, sent a shiver all the way through Craig – head to fucking toe and all the places in between.

He laughed, smacked him. “Yeah I kinda got that. I’ll keep it hot for you.” The look they exchanged could, he felt, be used to ignite the annual Battersea Park Bonfire

“You better.” He picked up the bag he’d dropped near the door, making a point of ignoring Jake. “And bloody phone me, okay?”

“I will. See you later.” They kissed, rubbed noses, kissed again. “Go!”

‘Phone me’ he mouthed as Craig closed the door.

Still smiling, Craig turned to face his brother. “Nother cup?”

“Please.”

“Wanna help? Could make a sarny too if you’re peckish.”

“Sausage?” He was getting to his feet, the banality of the exchange clearly setting him somewhat at ease.

“Bacon’s quicker.” He looked at him. “You’re bloody starving aren’t you? Plonker.” He led the way into their small, neat kitchen. He certainly missed the Liverpool house, kitchen in particular. “When did you last eat? Come on we can do better than a bloody sarny. Pasta?”

“Bolognese?”

He roiled his eyes. “Way to be predictable – and boring.”

“You make great Spag Bol – the only thing you could do without burning the house down.”

“When I was about 14, Jake. I’ve grown up a lot since then.”

“Yeah, yeah you have.” He was standing here, watching him as though it really had only just hit him that his brother was no longer 14 years old. “I miss them days, don’t you?”

“I do. When we were happy, genuinely happy. We didn’t know mum and dad were having problems – we used to squabble - boys against the girls – you and Deb against me and Steph.”

“Remember the snake?”

“Her face!”

“It was mean, but she was such a pain.”

Yeah.” He was smiling, genuinely feeling the carefree affection of those bygone days. It hadn’t occurred to him until very recently that since coming to Hollyoaks they’d rarely had any of that between them. He loved Jake but wasn’t sure his brother felt the same. There was a time when he’d been sure. “You okay?”

Jake shrugged, leaned against the fridge. “I didn’t tell you this, but I started a new relationship. No, no it’s over now. Was a mistake – a stupid, stupid mistake. Trying to recapture what I had with Becca.” He was thoughtful, studying his brother’s face. “Relationships – when you’re young you see people in marriages, happy – seemingly happy – you think that’s life- a natural, automatic part of life, like growing up, growing old, dying. But it’s not is it? No-one tells you that it’s a bit of a lottery – finding the right girl – or boy –making it work. I know now that Becca wasn’t the one for me any more than Nancy was-“

“Nancy?”

“Yeah we – briefly – but it didn’t’ work out. She wasn’t Becca and I needed her to be. I wasn’t Mr. Right and she needed me to be.”

Nancy? And Jake? Fucking hell! “Sorry it didn’t work out, mate.”

Jake sighed, went over to the cooker, stirred the frying mince. “You’ve got the heat too low, Craig. How many times?” He turned the heat up.

“You do it your way – I do it mine.” He pushed him out the way with his hip, turned the heat down. “Chop some garlic. Here.”

“Garlic breath? _Must_ be love.” They stopped, looked at each other.

“Yeah. Yeah it is.” He deliberately held his brother’s eye. “For life, Jake – for life.”

“That’s what we all think, Craig.”

“No, no it’s not. I think there are times in your life when you just know and I’m not just talking about love or relationships. I mean it in a more general sense. Jake have you never got flashes like, I don’t know, the sort of certainty you feel about yeah, getting old, dying.” He laughed. “I mean we all know that’s gonna happen, don’t we? Well that’s the kind of certainty I feel about me and John Paul. It’s no longer about a ‘relationship’, fancying someone. This is the person I’m going to grow old and yeah die with. That’s how big this is, Jake. And I’m sorry that it bothers you and means that you can’t accept me as your brother anymore, but it’s not a question of choice or if it is – he’s first choice – every time.” He watched Jake stir the meat, not meeting his eye. “How about that garlic then?”

“No, you do the garlic – unless you’ve become one of those gays who have all the kitchen tools and you’ve got that thing that washes the smell of garlic off your hands.”

“No, not yet, but give me time.” He took the garlic, handed him the onion. “Onion fingers better?”

“Marginally.”

The two men chopped and added and argued and tasted then, satisfied, left the meat simmering, washed up – hands and utensils – before going back into the lounge.

“Music or crap tv?”

“Neither. Sit down, Craig.” He was sitting on the chair he’d occupied before, leaning forward, hands held loosely in front of him. Craig gave an inward groan as he recognised Jake’s ‘we need to talk – about icky things’ face. “I know we’ve been over this before but there certain things I want to, _need_ to say.”

Craig sat. “Okay.”

“I shouldn’t have hit you – you or him-“

“ _His_ name is John Paul. Let’s start as we mean to go on, right mate?”

“I didn’t mean anything by that.”

“Okay, sorry.”

“The thing is,” He sighed, sat back. “I knew he fancied you - a long time back.”

“Yeah? You never said.”

“When we were going to that football coaching thing I’d see the way he’d look at you – when he thought you weren’t looking - like he wanted, well you know, like a bloke would look at any girl he wanted to get into bed.” He made a note of Craig’s shrug, went on. “I thought about telling you but I could see he wasn’t the type to make a pass so I thought I’d leave it, that it might be just a crush and he’d get over it. I suppose I didn’t want to freak you out – you’d probably be a bit weird about having showers and things with him. I got a bit worried when I realised that you were staying in the same room with him every Friday, but when it was obvious he was still not making a pass or anything I thought it’d be alright.” He paused, obviously, quite obviously himself freaked out by even having to talk about this subject. “I thought it was all one-sided, but then, I think it was the third Friday – he was sleeping remember? He had his head on your shoulder and you looked...well you didn’t push him off like I’d have expected you to. That’s when I knew – when I saw the way you were with him, the way you seemed... _glad_ to have him sleeping on you, like it was natural or something, like he was –“

“Someone I was in love with.”

Jake sighed. “I just blanked it, pretended I hadn’t seen it.”

“Hoped I’d come to my senses.”

“You’re straight, always been into girls.” 

He sounded like he was pleading, for what Craig couldn’t begin to guess. “Yeah – and then I met John Paul.”

“But you can’t just change like that.”

“Jake, I don’t fucking care what you think can and cannot be. I met him; I fell in love – for good. Do you get that?” He laughed. “Stupid question, course you don’t. See it doesn’t fucking matter what happened before him. How do I get this through to you? He is IT – forever and fucking ever, so me liking boys, girls, gorillas doesn’t _matter_ – it’s irrelevant since he’s the one I’m with – for life. Which part of that do you not understand?”

Jake stared at him. “I have  _never_ felt that way.”

Craig nodded. “I doubt many people have. It’s a scary, scary thing, but totally the best fucking feeling in the world. I wish the whole world, every person in the world, could have a John Paul in their lives. But not  _my_ John Paul – he’s my prototype and he’s taken – off the market, copyrighted. I  _own_ the fucking patent.”

“You arrogant fucker!”

Craig laughed. “What?”

 

 

**

 

Craig phoned – eventually. 

“Do you really think I got a jot of work done? I was waiting for your call you thoughtless bastard! Couldn’t concentrate at all.”

“You sore?”

“You bloody better believe.”

“Come home. I’ll kiss it better.”

“You will bloody well do more than that you sod!”

When John Paul got home, Craig fed him the rest of the bolognese then took him to bed.

They made love that night – all night.

Neither of them made it to morning lectures.

 

 

**

 

No-one knew they were a couple. They’d talked it through, agreed to admit they were together if anyone asked but since they never gave anything away it was unlikely to be the natural conclusion most people would arrive at.

They’d taken the attic flat because it was, well, in the attic – some way away from the rest of the other occupants. Now neither them had said it was so they could make as much noise as they wanted without feeling inhibited but he had to admit that he did feel better meeting the other occupants on the stair or at the front door and getting nods, smiles and not winks or knowing looks.

Maybe it was the way they spoke to each other –in public – like mates, not lovers. How  _did_ you speak to your love like your lover and not like your mate? John was first and foremost his best mate and that’s how they treated each other

There were a variety of gay related clubs and societies.... and they were both totally uninterested: didn’t seem to be something at all relevant to them. They were a couple who he would admit were pretty self-centred, quite self-involved, neither himself nor John Paul feeling the need to socialise with other people outside college hours. They spent all day with other bloody people – off-hours were for  _them_ .

Not like they were joined at the hip or anything, but they had a lot of interests in common, liked the same stuff – there just wasn’t that need to look for entertainment in other people.

And the next few years were going to be really heavy – he’d have a year in industry –year after next - and he’d already told John Paul that he was looking at Japan, already making plans to get as fluent in the language as he could. They’d be separated for a year and the thought was killing him. No way was he wasting a precious moment of that time messing about with societies and clubbing and all that drinking in pubs nonsense. God when he thought of all the time he’d wasted with Sarah – and Hannah – when he could have been spending it all with John Paul.

Of course they had friends – both of them did – they were popular guys – John Paul in particular, but they tried not to extend the friendship outside of college hours, never invited any of them back to the flat.

There was a girl on his course – Sinead – who’d been flirting with him since day one. She was, no exaggeration, probably the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen: dark brown hair, incredible grey eyes, tall, slim, long legs. She was totally his type – of woman. And she was also really nice, genuine, down to earth; the flirting good-natured and quite subtle really –she was no ho. And he looked at her, saw she was beautiful and nothing fired in his brain – it was like she was a piece of art – spectacular, breathtaking, but not something you’d consider taking home and fucking. (Well maybe if he looked hard enough – on the Internet or channel 5 – he’d be proved wrong). It was as though, since he’d met John Paul, the pathways in his brain had slowly, subtly been changing, re-arranging themselves so that certain connections were no longer made: the train now travelled on a slightly different track – one wholly owned by John Paul Railways.

He grinned to himself, wondering how his love would feel being compared to a railway company.

He’d probably sulk then ambush him in the shower or something, offer him a ride on his choo-choo.

He laughed even harder at the knowledge that he knew this man so well that he could even  _hear_ the way he’d say it in that accent of his.

Ah well he knew he had it bad – not like that was news.

“Will you get out of that bloody bath! I’ve got a lecture in 40 minutes. If you’re not out, dressed and ready to go in ten minutes I will leave your ass!”

He didn’t bother trying to make out the muffled reply. Obviously they both knew that that was in the top 3 of spectacularly empty threats.

 

**

 

On the last day of November he came home to find Craig in the lounge. He was holding a sheet of paper in his hand and looked close to tears.

When he saw John Paul he simply handed him the paper.

It was a letter – from his mother.

**Son, this is the hardest letter I have ever had to write.**

 

**I can’t believe we’ve come to this, Craig – having to communicate this way. I know you’re angry with me and I understand why, but I don’t know how to let you know that it’s because I love you so much that I had such a bad reaction to the things you were saying. It was such a shock – for months you’d been drifting away from us and I didn’t’ know why. All I knew was that John Paul was at the heart of it so to hear it confirmed that I was right but in a way I was never expecting, not in a million years Craig did I think you were gay. Well it really shook me. I couldn’t bear to look at you knowing that somehow I’d missed this thing, this thing about you, that I’d failed as a mother.**

 

**You can’t know how it feels to fail your children. I know I failed you many times – this has been the worst yet. I was so stuck on me – what it would mean for me – you being gay, everyone knowing, that I forgot how much I love you, forgot that promise I made to every one of you when you were born and I held you in my arms for the first time. I promised you, I promised each and every one of you that no matter what happened I’d never stop loving you, never stop being your devoted mum, the one who was always going to be on your side. I was so young when I had Jake, but that promise helped me get through a lot of hard times – with all of you. I won’t pretend it’s always been easy. This with you, son, has been the hardest of all, but no matter how far in the other direction I went that promise kept tugging me back.**

**I will not lie to you; it’s still hard for me to accept that you’re not the boy I always thought you were, but I love you so much, Craig. I never stopped, you know. I don’t honestly think it’s possible to stop loving any of you.**

**We may not ever be ale to get back what we had but I want us to try.**

**I’m asking you to forgive me, give me another chance to keep that promise.**

**I know it’s up to me and I’m trying – I’ve been in touch with an organisation for parents of gay kids. I’m going to my first meeting next week. I want to understand, want to be able to be that mother you need me to be.**

**I feel ashamed that John Paul’s family gave you what I couldn’t.**

**Forgive me, Craig.**

**Love you,**

 

**Mum.**

He folded the letter, placed it on the table then took Craig by the hand and led him to their chair, stroked his hair while he let it all out.

 

 

**

 

A guy on his course – Brendan – had hired a room in one of the local clubs, sold tickets to most of the first years – or so it seemed to Craig.

It felt like ages since he’d been to a party – that wasn’t McQueen related anyway. He and John Paul had been to quite a few parties while they were in Liverpool – all of them hosted by friends of friends of friends of the McQueens. He had a feeling that this party wasn’t going to be anything like any of those wild yet tightly controlled affairs.

Sinead, looking spectacular in a dress he really hadn’t expected from her, had taken him by the arm the minute they walked in, a casual hi over her shoulder to John Paul, who shrugged and went looking for his own mates.

The music wasn’t bad, the atmosphere great. No reason not to make the most of it. They were going home in a few days – to the McQueens, but spending Boxing Day with his family who’d accepted an invitation to the McQueens for Christmas Day. Well that should be interesting. 

He’d spoken to his mum the other day. At first she hadn’t been keen on ‘that organisation’, but after toughing it out for a few meetings she’d actually made a few friends and now really looked forward to their trips and events. Seeing other mums in the same position had really helped change her attitude. She even spoke to John Paul like he was Craig’s best mate – just normal, not forcing it, genuinely no longer freaked out by the fact that John Paul was his partner. All well and good – they’d see how it went when they kissed in front of her for the first time.

But the truth was he wasn’t worried – Jake was still freaked by the ‘sex thing’ but seemed to accept the ‘love thing’ alright. It, funnily enough, seemed to be something that made sense to him.

Darren? Darren was just a plonker who hardly mattered one way or another.

 

 

**

 

 

The 10 th time a girl hit on John Paul proved to be the final straw.

Craig didn’t give a fuck that John Paul wouldn’t be interested – that wasn’t the point. He wasn’t fucking  _available_ . Maybe it was time to make that crystal fucking clear.

He walked away from the group that had been surrounding him, trying to obscure his view of John Paul and the vultures circling him, ignored Sinead’s outstretched hand. Yes, well, maybe it was time to make  _other_ things crystal clear too.

John Paul watched him, eyes shining, not because he knew what was on Craig’s mind, but because – well because he  _always_ looked at him like that.

“Alright?” 

“Not exactly, no.” He took the bottle from him, handed it to the startled girl who’d artfully draped herself half on John Paul’s right flank, half on the wall. “Come here.” John Paul came automatically, probably thinking kiss or hug, the way they did in private. Maintaining eye contact Craig carefully put his hands on back, on hip, pulled him close. “Wanna dance?”

John Paul grinned, the kiss he placed carefully on Craig’s mouth having the distinct taste of barely controlled laughter.

They danced all night, slow, fast, didn’t fucking matter – he was staking his claim and Craig didn’t believe in doing things by halves.

Well, he was pretty satisfied that everyone knew they were a fucking couple now. Good. Hands fucking off!

They left the club a few hours later, worked up and ready to work it out in any way that came to them. 

Making love? Off the fucking menu for the next little while...

**

 

They woke to a billion text messages – nearly all from girls – inviting them out for drinks, dinner, pictures, parties. One bold American even extended an invitation to spend Christmas at her place. 

**Youd have your own room – next door to mine** .

Yeah with a fucking peephole in the wall no doubt.

One minute he was just a guy with a funny accent who worked too hard. Now he was a guy with a hot boyfriend and all of a sudden  _everyone’s_ best friend.

John Paul thought it was fucking hilarious, pointing out the irony of him having fag hags when he wasn’t even a ‘proper’ fag.

_He’d_ received several invitations to join the various gay related societies...

Thank god they were going home in a bit. But clearly next term was going to be fun, fun, total royal fucking fun.

Couldn’t bloody wait.

 

 

**

 

“Ah I hate the fucking snow.” Craig was struggling with the suitcase he’d insisted on carrying. 

John Paul watched him for a minute then shaking his head took it from him. “Oh shut up. It saves time if I carry it, okay? Here carry this.” He handed him the Tesco carrier bag. “More your speed.”

“Oh ha-ha. Why did it have to choose now to snow?”

“Cos it’s December; the best time I’d say to ‘choose to snow’”

“And it’s supposed to be really bad back home.”

“Can’t bloody wait.” He was grinning. “Snow ball fights, your hair covered in snow...”

“What? Fuck that. I’m going nowhere near it. And certainly not my fucking hair.”

John Paul looked at him. His hair was covered by a plain black designer beanie just the ends showing. It was peppered with white from the persistent snowflakes, the tip of his nose was red and his eyes were shining. John Paul had to swallow and look away, so in love he thought he was going to die from it. “We’ll probably miss that plane and end up stranded just cos someone was afraid to go out in the cold.”

“Shut up.”

They trudged their way into the airport foyer.

It was busy as fuck.

They both groaned when they saw the queues. “Oh well, not like we’ve got a choice. Your mum would roast me if I didn't bring you back today.”

"Yeah but she’d probably enjoy eating you after.”

"Urgh, do you mind? That is a very unpleasant thought.” They’d joined the shortest queue – a calculation that was based on nothing more than Craig pointing and raising an eyebrow. “Think it’s gonna go okay?”

John Paul snorted. “Christmas at our house? Not bloody likely.”

“Hmmm.” He was struggling to remove his gloves.

John Paul helped him, took his hand and rubbed it between his. “You big southern-bred baby.”

“I was just taking my gloves off – wasn’t complaining about the cold.”

“Right.” He blew on the fingers that were pink and very warm. “How long you lived up North?”

"Not long enough to get used to this bloody weather. God, how long is this going to take? We’re gonna be hours. We’ll miss that plane, I’m telling you.”

“Oh stop whinging. How the fuck did I end up with such a bloody whiner?”

Craig smacked him one in the ribs. "Oh sorry, mate.” He hugged him. “Don't know me own strength.”

"Oh now you’ve done it.”

“What, I said I was sorry and you know I didn't mean to smack you so hard.”

"Now you’re gonna have to kiss me.”

"Oh since when?”

"Kiss - or blowjob.”

"Fucking hell, John Paul!” He looked around him, smiled at the stern faced couple behind them. “Steady on – we’re still in Ireland for fuck's sake.”

“Your choice.”

“Okay. Unzip for me then.”

The couple picked up their bags obviously deciding to take their chances with one of the other lines. 

The two men looked at each other, trying not to crack up.

“Oh now look what you did.”

“Me? I wasn't the one talking about _unzipping_.”

Craig put a hand to his head, about to remove the beanie. John Paul stopped him. “What? We're indoors and about to step on a plane – well, in about 4 hours or-“

John Paul’s kiss stopped his words, but he held on to his hat anyway. He often had to whenever John Paul kissed him with that look in his eye.

Crazy fucker. Who the fuck got turned on by snow?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
